Am I Beautiful?: The SlitMouth Woman
by Akimi Kono
Summary: In Japan there is a legend that a deformed-mouth woman haunts the lonely streets. She will follow you and ask you if she's beautiful. If you say "no" you die, if you say "yes" you become just like her...She's the slit-mouth woman. She is kuchisake-onna.


2/13/11 - 2/15/11

Disclaimer: I owe for revealing this myth to me! :D If you want to read the legend: .com/kuchisake-onna/

I hope you like my story!

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A long time ago in Japan lived a beautiful young woman. She caught the eyes of many men and she was studied for her endless beauty. Though many were smitten with her, she had no suitors. They were all much too uncertain to speak to her. How come this lovely woman possibly love them?

So many years passed since her birth and she was still without a husband. One day her astounding splendor caught the attention of an exalted samurai. He was instantly in love with her. He was the only man brave enough to speak to her, and as this young woman spoke with him she also fell in love. It was only three months later when they were married. They were both so happy and in love that it seemed their marriage would last for their entire lives - their happiness would pass on until the end of the earth. It was quite a shock to the samurai who, 6 months into their marriage and still in love with his wife as much as he was when he first met her, discovered that she was having an affair. Not only was she having an affair, but it was with a fishmonger. A man so below him and her both that it was almost laughable. But it was not entertaining, not in the least bit.

The samurai, who had been known to have a very short temper, flew into a rage. He was known as "Urami" to most of the world, the Japanese word for "grudge", "malice" or "resentment". He confronted his wife with the treasonous allegations. His wife, though still beautiful, had become self-absorbed and vain. She answered as hotly as he had: "I do as I please and it is of no concern to you."

The samurai spat back: "Who do you think you are, to act as haughtily as you do?"

His wife said quickly, "I am beautiful and better than you! You do not and never did deserve me!" She announced that she was leaving with the fishmonger and she intended to take half of the samurai's fortune. This angered him beyond all rational thinking. In an instant he drew his sword and rushed to his wife. He grabbed her by the shoulder and tossed her to the ground. She tried to throw herself up but the samurai had already dropped on top of her, brandishing his sword over her head.

"You think you are so beautiful? You think you can take my fortune and LEAVE?" He screamed at her. She screamed back, but not in anger but fear. The samurai lifted his sword and cursed the woman, wailing that her eternal soul would be tormented after she died. The wife exclaimed back to him:

"I will turn my torment into your nightmare! You will forever regret what you have done to your wife!"

Quickly the samurai laid the sword across his wife's face, slitting the corners of her mouth up to her ears in a sort of smile. The woman screamed in agony as she lay dying.

"Who will think you are beautiful _now_?"

The samurai stared down at his once-beautiful wife and watched as every bit of life dripped from her in small red droplets. He saw the color in her eyes drain away and imagined that the color was coming out as blood. The rage of the moment died away but the anger did not. He stood from his wife's body, grabbed her by the arm and drug her through their home and then out into the garden. Blood stained the ground and spattered on the wall whenever she hit a bump or was pulled quickly. The samurai took his time to excavate a small hole in the ground in the middle of the bamboo garden. He grabbed his wife's wrist and tossed her into the hole, cursing her once again and then covering the hole with dirt. The samurai returned to his life and acted as if everything were normal and his wife were not dead.

It was 2 months after his wife's death when the samurai noticed a strange occurrence in his home. A table would be moved a few inches, a lantern moved from one hook to another and his futon would be matted down, his wife's side concave as if someone had been lying there. During dinner one night he heard a screeching sound, like a heavy object being moved across the wooden floor. It was from a distance, though, like from the bedroom. He stood and walked down the hall, his hand gripping the hilt of his katana. Slowly he went back to the bedroom and pushed the doors apart, peering inside.

All was in place except for the window, which was opened and a low dresser which had been pushed into the center of the room. He laughed lightly and decided that it was one of his servants whom was cleaning. Probably back in the closet or something, he told himself and let go of his sword, walking into the room. He knelt down to push the dresser back to its place against the wall when a sharp crack caused him to throw his head up and draw his sword. He squatted in silence, staring with keen eyes around the room. He discovered that it was the window that had made the noise.

A wind blew into the room and made the curtains flutter and the frame shudder against itself, banging and cracking. As the samurai let out a soft laugh and convinced himself once again that he was alone in the room, a low rumble picked up. The entire house seemed to groan and a sudden shift made it appear the house had jolted awake from a nightmare. The samurai leapt to his feet and quivered. What was this that was happening? His eyes studied the room as he slowly turned. As if attracted by some force, his gaze was pulled to a dark figure standing in the shadow of the room. It felt like his heart were jumping through his throat and dropping into his stomach at the same time.

"Who are you?" He commanded in his strong voice even though inside he was not nearly as brave. When the figure did not answer, just nodded its head loosely as if connected by a string instead of a neck, he asked again, "Who are you?" His voice echoed in the room though it was not empty. The figure shrugged one of its black shoulders and shuffled its feet.

The samurai stepped back and reached for his sword. It was not there. He turned his eyes to his side where the sword should have been. His head snapped towards the figure and it pointed towards the dresser in the center of the room. He followed the finger and then jumped to the dresser. He pulled open the first of the three thin drawers. Nothing was inside. Anxiety began to boil inside of him. He pulled open the second drawer to find nothing. The samurai looked over his shoulder at the figure.

"It is no joke!" He swore that he could hear the stranger laughing a gurgling, gasping chortle, "You have entered the home of the great samurai - the one known as Urami... For I... " He turned and yanked on the last drawer but it did not open. "For I... I am of short-temper and a fierce fighter! You do not want to fool with me. I am very resentful..." He was losing confidence in himself. The drawer would still not open. Finally, with one last, hard pull and a twitch of the stranger's hand, the drawer came out. Inside lay a blood-laden sword, glinting in the lantern light. The blood dripped off into the inside of the drawer and soaked into the painted wood. Some of the liquid was dried and some seemed fresh. In shock, the samurai pushed the drawer closed and sprung to his feet.

His heart seemed to be beating at an unbelievable pace and his temples was pounding as if drums were being played inside his head. "What...?" He gasped out, turning around to face the stranger. They were no longer in the corner. "Who...? Where are you...? Come out! Come fight me... I do not need a sword to fight a coward who hides in a corner! I just need hands.. My hands..." The samurai became dizzy and disorientated as he tried to focus on the room and his hands. Soon his hands became clearer and clearer until he saw what they looked like. Bruised and bloodied, the skin on the knuckles were cracked and blisters were forming on the palms, just below his fingers. Dark reddish-blue rings circled his wrists and four of his fingernails were missing, only black stains remained. These were NOT his hands. There were not the hands of a great warrior. These were the hands of a beggar. A carpenter. A fishmonger.

Gulping in air like a young, dying fish, the samurai spun around the room again and stopped when he saw the shadow. It was in another corner this time near the bed, just beside the open window. The curtains fluttered loosely and covered the face of the person.

"Who are you?" The samurai tried to scream. The stranger shuffled their feet again and then slowly pushed one out, stepping into the dimming light of the lantern. They pushed their other foot forward and then stumbled out. Their hair dripped in front of their face in long, black strands. Their skin was a blue-ivory, covered in minor scrapes. If there were any bruises, they were hidden by the undertone of the skin. Their face seemed to be forced down to look at the ground. They slowly walked forward, their body stiff and their steps jagged. They rolled their shoulders back as they came to a stop, their hair and the hem of the gown they wore gently blowing forward.

"Who are you?" He repeated.

The figure, a woman he could now tell, breathed out a raspy sigh. He heard a low gurgling being uttered from their mouth and he felt a bit repulsed. What type of creature made that noise? Just as he was readying to ask his question a third time, the woman answered.

"You," it began in a low, crackly voice, "have cursed the entire grounds of which you live... You.. you will pay for your deviltry and your vilification of your wife..." She breathed in, sounding like a young baby with a cold, "You have caused a sort of... distemper... with her... you have brought it upon yourself... _Urami_." It appeared the woman was sneering at his fearsome reputation. "Now it is your turn to face the other half of the curse."

"Who.. Where did you come from? Who have you been speaking to? My wife.. She has run away, I have not seen her in months. I have not done anything to her!"

The woman ignored him and began to speak lowly, "A curse... A curse to you and your home... Your wife will get satisfaction... in your death!"

The samurai stepped back in shock, "Who are you to speak to me like that?"

Quickly the woman's head snapped up and her hair flew back from an invisible breeze. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, turning from white to red. Blood red. Her mouth opened wide as she let out a howling scream. She revealed blood-stained teeth and a long tongue which spilled out from a long gash on one side of her mouth. Yes, her mouth was slit from ear to ear in a permanent smile. Her shriek surrounded the samurai.

"You fool!" She wailed, running towards him. Never did she look at him. Her eyes remained rolled back and bleeding. "You have sinned and you will pay for it with your life!" She was on him in an instant, shaking him violently. They tumbled to the ground in a mass of screams and shock. The woman beat at the samurai with her hands which were covered in lacerations and oozed a thick, black liquid. White calluses were along the woman's arms and covered the palms of her hands. She grabbed at the samurai's throat.

He tried to fight her off but it was useless. Never had he been useless, defenseless and unprepared. He had always won. He always defeated his opponent, but it seemed this adversary was not going to let him win. It seemed it was also from another world. Slowly the breath began to slip out of the samurai's lung and the strangling hold the woman had on his throat prevented any air to reenter. He gasped with his mouth but received nothing. Life began to leak out of him as he lay on the ground.

Before his very eyes the woman grabbed a sword - his sword - from the ground. Where had she gotten it? It had been in the dresser... The woman raised the sword above the samurai's head, squealing viciously, "Who do you think you are, to act as haughtily as you do?" She repeated the words the samurai had spoken to his wife before he had killed her. He watched the edge of the blade glint in the lantern and then turn dark as it was turned and hacked across his face.

He screamed in agony. The woman marked his face again, splitting the skin between the corner of his mouth and his ear.

"Smile for me, darling!" the woman screamed. "You think you're so wonderful! Who will think you're so wonderful... when you're deformed?"

The samurai laid on the ground, wriggling in pain and anguish. He bled to death on the bedroom ground, gurgling out for help only to receive none.

Three nosy neighbors found him the next morning, lifeless and white, splotched with red. His sword was found next to his body, covered in dried blood. They decided that he must have either fought off a vile foe, or he had done it to himself - most likely in grief of his dead wife. Though, they wondered, why hadn't a servant found him earlier? They searched the house to find one servant dead in the closet and the other four hiding in the back bedroom, their faces pale and clutching their small Maneki Neko sculptures.

"What happened here?" one neighbor asked in frustration.

"Perhaps," one other said, "there is something outside that will explain."

They made their way outside and looked around the backyard. There was nothing to show that there had been a struggle, or a robbery. However, upon further intrusion, they stumbled upon a pile of dirt in the center of the bamboo garden. They gathered around it and peered down into the ground. They were nervous as to what they would find inside. When they gazed down, they were quickly relieved of their fears.

"An empty hole," the last neighbor laughed lightly, "it's just an empty hole."


End file.
